Truth
The stars pierced the sky, making holes in the black canvas. The moon climbed beside them, painting the landscape silver. Cold air swirled from his mouth as he waited for his contact to arrive on a remote hilltop, looking over the small village that shouldn’t exist. He was on the mission of truth, and he was going to find it no matter what. He’d already taken care of the last part. Who he once was and what he once had were all gone now, burned by his obsession. No newspaper hired him. No serious journalist wanted to talk to him. All his friends had severed connections with him. He didn’t care. They hadn’t seen and experienced what he had. If this was all they were worth, then good riddance.
He shifted his weight from foot to foot to keep warm. His old Sedan stood mute next to him. He only had to climb in and crank up the heat to stay warm, but that would ruin everything.
He clutched his Om-camera, the lens weighing his hand down, shooting pins and needles through his frozen, numb fingers.
The little obscure village was only lit by the sky, defined by its shadows and the absence of streetlights. He had to narrow his eyes to see the village. He had tried to get in, but all the roads looped around the town back to the hills surrounding it. There, in the heart of the village, his truth was, and the man he was to meet knew how to get in.
He looped the camera around his neck and drew his jacket over it. He glanced at his wristwatch and groaned. The man was late. They had agreed to meet here at this hour by the man’s choice.
He licked his lips nervously and glanced at his Sedan again. It would be so warm inside. Without thinking, he took a step closer to the car, but a sudden flood of lights stopped him. At first, he thought they came from the road that he had taken to the hill, but no. The light was coming from the valley. He reached for his camera and brought it over his face. He froze, but his finger didn’t. It made the camera shoot rabid fire. Three lights in the sky danced over the valley, making impossible movements. He watched silently as the UFOs formed images in unison, spelling something.
“That means they accept you, but now we can’t have you go around, letting other people know,” sounded behind him. Before he could react, all the lights went out, and utter darkness fell as a thick hood landed over his head. Someone kicked him in the legs, making him drop to his knees and wail. They twisted his hands behind his back, and the camera was lifted off his neck. He heard it smash against rocks, and he let out his second wail.
“Don’t worry. This is just a beginning for you. We need someone to run errands in the outside world, and when you contacted me, we thought you would do it.”
—
My head is still out there, searching for intelligent life somewhere up in space. What I got today was a conversational mystery quest written in an objective third person. At first, I had this conversational tone looping in my head, but it went away when the story began to form.
I have nothing to add today. I slept badly; my back and chest ached. It only went away a few hours before I had to get up. So my head is anxious, nervous, groggy, and dysfunctional today. Now I will keep listening to David Bowie’s Starman on a loop.
Thank you for reading! Have a spacious day, and see you tomorrow ❤
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